


in my brain (taking up space)

by aspartaeme



Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: A small amount of, Boys In Love, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, First Kiss, Fluff, M/M, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-08
Updated: 2019-09-08
Packaged: 2020-10-12 14:11:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20565668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aspartaeme/pseuds/aspartaeme
Summary: It's the beginning of March, which inanyother placein the whole worldwould mean the beginning of spring, and the time of year when he doesn't have topretendnot to be cold wearing only two layers of clothing, and also the consistent appearance ofthe sun, Billyreallydoesn't think he's asking too much here, but Billy'snotin any other place, Billy's inHawkins,wherenothingeverarrives on time, and Billy thought that meant movies and fashion trends, but apparently it extends to seasonal changes as well, and isn'tthatjust his luck.alternatively; Steve has a cold. Billy has a crush.





	in my brain (taking up space)

**Author's Note:**

> did i avoid studying for my exams and stay awake till morning to write this because i couldn't get it out of my head? yes i did. do i regret any of it? no ma'am, i do not.

Billy knows approximately four things about Hawkins, which, in his book, is four things too many. 

Incidentally, _all four_ of those things are, to some extent, related to Steve Harrington. 

The first thing he knows is that Harrington used to be, quoting Tommy H. , _a big deal around here. _He used to rule over the school, a king in his element, worshipped reverently by his followers, remaining unattainable until he would eventually decide to grace the mere mortals of Hawkins with his presence at this week’s party. 

The second thing he knows about the town he finds himself stranded in is that the Harringtons, though for the main part absent from Hawkins _and _their son’s life, fucking _own _this town. It's easier, always according to Tommy H. , to list the places Hawkins' power couple _haven't _invested in, which apparently don't include the town’s high school. 

Billy, upon learning that Harrington's parents’ money is what keeps this place running, finds it _a lot _easier to explain just _how_ Harrington ‘c plus is _practically _excellent’breezes carefree through high school. 

He learns both of those things during his first week in Hawkins High, immediately after spotting Harrington over the parking lot and making it his mission in life to find out _everything _about him. 

He spends the next two weeks doing just that. 

The third thing he knows about Hawkins is that, in typical small town fashion, everyone thinks they know everything about everybody, and no one ever does. He comes to that conclusion when, after two weeks spent alternating between practically gobbling down every piece of information about Harrington he can get his hands on, and observing the boy in question closely, _obsessively_, cataloguing reactions, listing expressions, analyzing movements, he realizes no one has the slightest clue _who _Harrington really is, what makes him tick. 

Billy _itches _to find out. 

Held at gunpoint, he would _maybe, _reluctantly admit he ends up going about it the wrong way. 

That brings him to the fourth thing he knows about Hawkins, which is that something is _terribly, glaringly _wrong about this town. 

He has yet to find out exactly _what, _is almost all the way certain he doesn't _want to, _is decidedly _not _going to ask Max, who is _still _sulking every time he _voluntarily_ gives her a ride, the little bitch, even though he apologized to her, _and _her stupid friends, _and _Harrington, over _a month _ago, suspects she wouldn't tell him anyway. 

He knows something's wrong, because last November he found his step-sister in a house filled with weird drawings, and kids, and weapons even _he _wouldn't give to a thirteen-year-old, and Harrington's stupid, worried eyes. 

He knows something's wrong, because Harrington was willing to let his face turn into something resembling Susan's roast, the one he only pretends to eat and then gives to the orange cat lurking outside his window, hoping maybe it will stop pestering him, or die, or something, but it doesn't seem to get the message, and neither does Harrington, because he _keeps_ trying to get in Billy's way, and telling Billy what to do, and that _never _works well, for _anybody _involved, and Billy _knows_ he can be pretty scary when he loses control, so he figures whatever's got Harrington ready to pick a fight with _Billy_ must be positively _horrifying. _

He knows something's wrong, because a week after Billy apologizes to Max, and her friends, andHarrington, he goes to the bathroom to have a smoke during History, which has absolutely _no _right being this boring today, but it _is, _and Billy has _already _covered this chapter back in Cali, so there's essentially _no _reason for him to even _pretend _to pay attention, so he decides he won't, and he opens the bathroom door with a loud bang, because something about not being in Cali always brings him a step closer to his homicidal tendencies, and he's never _not _in touch with them to begin with, and. 

And Harrington _jumps. _

Billy gets a glimpse of him, brushing his _stupid _hair into something socially acceptable and as close to not bird-like as he can manage, before the sound of the door hitting the wall makes him jerk away from the mirror so fast his elbow hits the faucet and turns it on. 

The thing is - the school bathroom is really _not _that big, so Harrington's panicked leap sends him away from the mirror and directly into Billy's arms, face blanched and breath ragged, like Billy's gets the moment before Neil strikes the first blow. 

Billy _cannot_ think about _that _now, because Harrington is suddenly _exactly _where he's wanted him from the first moment he set eyes on him, and Harrington's still on his adrenaline high, so the fact that he's almost _hugging _Billy hasn't really registered yet, and Billy knows that Steve's slow, but he also knows he's bound to become aware of their position soon, so he tries to savour it while it lasts. 

For a few precious moments in Billy's life, he's in a school bathroom, Steve Harrington in his arms, the only sounds in the room being Steve's breath and the water still running. 

Harrington snaps out of it a second later, gives Billy a look that holds no less than six different meanings, at least three of which could be bent to translate into _don't let go, _into _I like being so close to you, _into _your eyes are so fucking pretty, _all of which Billy would gladly accept, all of which Billy's on the verge of muttering_, _pushes away from him, flies out of the bathroom so fast Billy's left wondering if maybe all this was a boredom-induced daydream courtesy of his pining heart, not a word exchanged between them throughout the whole incident. 

So yeah, Billy _knows _something's up. 

* 

He spends the rest of February pointedly avoiding Harrington. 

* 

It's the beginning of March, which in _any _other place _in the whole world _would mean the beginning of spring, and the time of year when he doesn't have to _pretend _not to be cold wearing only two layers of clothing, and also the consistent appearance of _the sun_, Billy _really _doesn't think he's asking too much here, but Billy's _not _in any other place, Billy's in _Hawkins, _where _nothing_ _ever_ arrives on time, and Billy thought that meant movies and fashion trends, but apparently it extends to seasonal changes as well, and isn't _that _just his luck, which is the fifth thing he begrudgingly learns about this hellhole. 

So it's March, and it's _cold, _and Billy is about to find out that thing number five is _also _connected to Harrington. 

He's picking Max up from Harrington's house, which is currently their preferred place for their nerdy games, but it turns out Max and her stupid friends weren't at Harrington's to play their stupid game, but to tend to Harrington, who has, against all odds, managed to catch a mean cold. 

Billy _knows _Harrington shouldn't have been able to get sick, because he's spent the last two weeks trying to count the layers of clothing Harrington makes an appearance in every day, so he _knows _Harrington goes for _five, _and then spent _another _two weeks trying to calculate how much time it would take to undress him, should it ever come to it. Billy likes to be prepared, sue him. 

Max is evidently unaware of all that, and is _definitely _unaware of Billy's mounting headache, seeing as she keeps yammering about how _Steve's really sick, Billy, and he's all alone in his house, there's no one to take care of him, and we stayed for as long as we could, but you _know _our parents would never let us stay the night and he _really _shouldn't be alone right now, _until Billy stops the car, not as abruptly as he would've back in November, but roughly enough to get his point across, which is that Max should _really _consider shutting the fuck up, because it's Saturday, and Billy didn't see Harrington at school yesterday, and that _really _fucked up his weekend, and finding out by his annoying step-sister Harrington wasn't at school because he was sick in bed does not do any favorsto his mood. 

_Some _of that must be getting over to Max, because she blessedly stops talking. 

Billy wouldn't admit that to anyone, but Max is _smart. _She's learned to read his moods, or, well, the various threatening degrees of his _one _mood, and knows not to push him when he's close to his breaking point. Knows to wait him out. 

Billy - appreciates that, more than he'd ever let her know. 

He grips the wheel. Takes a few breaths, in-and-out, in-and-out. Pinches the bridge of his nose. 

Says, calmly, ‘what exactly do you expect _me _to do about that?’ 

Thinks he already knows the answer. 

Thinks he probably would end up doing it anyway. 

Max says, tentatively, ‘you could stay with him during the night, _just _to make sure he doesn't _die _or something.’ 

And Billy knows, he _knows _she's being her usual overly dramatic self, like, _nobody _dies from a _cold, _not even a _bad _one, not even _Harrington's _delicate ass, and he _still _can't keep his heart from doing a few worried somersaults in the face of a possibility so horrible. 

He violently steers his mind away from the last time he was faced with that image, Steve bloodied and bruised and _barely_ _conscious_, under his fists. 

He'll be damned if he lets Max see him giving in so easy, though. 

He stares ahead. Sighs a couple more times. Turns to stare at Max, who looks thoroughly unimpressed by his theatrics, a look that says _I can see right through you_ planted on her stupid face. He sighs, again. 

‘Fine. I'll play nurse for your precious babysitter, for _one night. _If he's not up by tomorrow, you and the nerds will have to figure something out.’ 

Max looks suspiciously like she's trying very hard to suppress a smile. 

Billy hates her. 

* 

They agree on their story, decide on what Max’ll tell Neil if he asks, something Billy _seriously_ doubts, since it's Saturday evening, which Billy usually spends getting shitfaced at some random party, not having a _sleepover_ in his hopeless, decidedly male crush's house, nursing said crush back to health. 

Billy drives Max home, waits until she's inside, convinces himself it's not because he _cares, _or something equally disgusting, then speeds his way back to Harrington's. 

He makes a stop at the grocery store, stocking up on cans of soup and bags of tea, because he's not risking finding Harrington in a house as empty as his parents left it, then drives to the drugstore, realizes he forgot to ask Max about Harrington's symptoms, _then _remembers he _deliberately _didn't, because _that_ would mean he cares, or something, and Max is smug enough around him as it is, decides he can't go wrong with cough syrup, aspirin, and something for the nose. 

Doesn't dwell on the fact he's _never _bought cough syrup, in his _life_, for _anyone_, not even _himself, _because _that _thought would lead to _a lot _of inconvenient admissions, and he's on his way to Harrington's house, and having a crush on someone _really _doesn't justify doing everything Billy's doing for Harrington, and that. 

That's a lot to take in in one evening. 

* 

The first thing he notices is the quiet. 

It's like, _eerily _quiet. 

Quiet enough that Billy's half-convinced Harrington's going to call the police, report an intruder, what with the way the paper bags Billy comes in carrying sound, the noise amplified by the deafening silence that blankets the rest of the house. 

A few minutes pass, and Billy is less convinced he's about to get arrested for trying to be _nice, _for once, so he puts the things he brought in the empty cupboards, congratulates himself for having anticipated this outcome, stalls as much as possible before he decides to bite the bullet and climbs the stairs to find Harrington. 

Turns out, he's been worrying himself up for nothing. 

Harrington's passed out on his bed, the only part of his body visible under the fortress of blankets he's buried under being his stupid fluffy hair, which is apparently where the only energy left in Harrington's body is concentrated. 

Billy - is kind of lost on what to do, if he's honest. 

He gives in to the urge to just - look. 

He spends the next hour making a mental index of Harrington's bedroom, cold and impersonal like the rest of the house, examining the few things that obviously constitute Steve's input, settles down on a chair next to the bed, finally bracing himself enough to take in Steve's form. 

He's just starting to doze off, when Harrington stirs. 

Billy's first instinct is to run, because Harrington's sick, and the guy who beat his face to a pulp is _in his bedroom, _and they're _not _friends, so he starts to stand up, makes to get out of the chair, the room, the house, _possibly_ the town, depending on how this goes, but then Steve looks at him for a second, blinks, _smiles. _

Billy thinks he's probably coming down with something himself, if the way his throat _tightens_ at the sight is any indication. 

‘Max said she would try to get you to stay,’ Steve mumbles under the blankets. ‘I didn't think you would actually agree to do it.’ 

He sounds - _content, _almost. Or, well, as content as someone with a runny nose and fever-glazed eyes can sound. 

And like, Harrington's in bed with a cold, so there's _no way _he's happy about that, and the kids are not here anymore, so it's not _that_ either, and the only one here with Steve is _Billy, _and that. 

Billy doesn't know what to dowith that. 

He tries not to let something in him that feels alarmingly like hope flare up, fails, blinks at Harrington for a _solid minute. _

Then, attempting to preserve _some _of his dignity, growls, ‘you look like shit, Harrington.’ 

Steve - laughs. 

Well. He _tries _to laugh, which results in a furious coughing fit, which results in even _more _laughing on his part. 

Billy would feel _offended _his insult didn't land, if he wasn't busy feeling so _lost. _

He has _never _been the cause of Harrington's laughter before, so he figures Steve must be battling a particularly high, delusion-inducing fever. 

Harrington doesn't look half as disoriented as Billy feels, though. In fact, he looks at Billy with a clarity he's never seen Harrington directing at anybody, let alone him. 

He stops coughing, and laughing, eventually. 

Looks at Billy with something akin to _cheekiness _in his eyes, says, ‘not _all _of us can look like something out of a fashion catalogue all the time, Hargrove.’ 

Billy is even morelost. 

* 

When Billy manages to regain his composure, he remembers _why _he's here. 

‘I brought soup,’ he says, a bit more forcefully than intended. ‘Your kitchen was fucking empty. Don't you ever _eat?’_

Steve looks almost as surprised by Billy's declaration as he did the moment Billy pushed him to the ground outside of the Byers’. 

‘You didn't have to,’ he says, quietly, frowning to himself like buying soup for someone constitutes some kind of great sacrifice, or something. 

Billy looks at him, mutters, ‘I'm here to make you feel better, Harrington. Stale cereal and a can of corn isn't exactly the ideal prescription for a cold.’ 

Steve smiles slyly at him. ‘Are you gonna _cook _for me, Hargrove? Are you going to make me_ feel better?’_

Billy leaves the room. 

* 

He leaves Harrington's door half-open, in case he needs something. 

* 

He goes to the kitchen, bewildered and baffled and _lost, _and he. 

He cooks for Harrington. 

Harrington's _sick, _and Billy _is_ spending the night to _help_, and he _did _buy several cans of soup, so he _really_ doesn't have to explain himself to _anyone, least_ of all _Harrington, _who wascoughing up a lung not ten minutes ago, who is in _desperate _need of some soup, who acts like he's _happy _Billy's here. 

So he heats up three cans of tomato soup, because one is not enough and two is too much for one person, but somehow three cans are _perfect_ for two people, and he finds a questionable loaf of bread and some cheese, so he decides to make them grilled cheese, because Harrington should really get something solid in him, and then he spends a few minutes trying to wrap his head over the fact he's _in_ Harrington’s house, about to have _dinner _with him, and cursing the Indiana weather for putting him in this position in the first place, then panicking some more when he finds himself unable to even _pretend _to feel annoyed about it. 

He finds Harrington half-seated in bed, like he expects Billy to _bring_ his food to him, and like, no, Billy _has _to draw the line _somewhere,_ so he leans on the door frame, crosses his arms, arches his brow, like, ‘you're gonna have to walk yourself to the kitchen if you want to eat, pretty boy.’ 

Steve has the _audacity_ to look affronted. 

He gets over it quickly enough, doesn’t even give Billy the satisfaction of a small triumph. 

‘I thought I looked like shit thirty minutes ago.’ 

‘You still do, Harrington. Not everything I say is literal.’ 

Steve, in all his disheveled glory, half on his way out of the room, stops _right _in front of Billy, gives him a pointed look that resembles unnervingly the one Max gives him when she's calling out his bullshit, says, ‘who are you trying to fool, Hargrove?’ 

Billy chokes on air. 

* 

They eat in relative silence, which _should _be uncomfortable but _isn't, _and isn't _that _something, and Billy tries, he _does, _to find some other, less laden word to describe the whole scene, always ends up with _domestic. _

Harrington keeps giving him these _looks, _keeps making these _noises, _like this is the best meal he's ever had, like it's not just canned soup and stale bread, like having someone prepare a meal for him _means _something. 

His skin looks clammy, and his hair has _definitely_ seen better days, Billy could _name _a few just off the top of his head, and his eyes are half closed from exhaustion, and Billy - 

Loves him. 

He almost drops his spoon the moment _that_ wordflashes through his head, makes a strangled noise like _he's _the one with the sore throat, forcing Harrington to look up at him, face three parts concern and one part mischief, like he _knows, _like he's been waiting for Billy to _catch up_, like he's - 

Like he's okay with it. 

Billy finds he's not hungry anymore. 

* 

They end up in Harrington's living room, watching something Billy suspects might be _Night of the Comet, _and he loves that movie, he _does, _but Steve is laying on the couch next to him, his toes touching the side of Billy's leg, and Billy finds it _extremely _difficult to concentrate on anything else except that single point of contact. 

Which means he notices immediately when Harrington starts shaking, a full body shudder that has his teeth clashing and his hands trembling, and Billy leans over, puts a hand on his forehead, finds Harrington burning up, doesn't even register how he ends up carrying him all the way to his room, Harrington clinging to him, like he trusts Billy with his _life_. 

Billy lowers Harrington gently on his bed, makes sure he's covered with blankets, gives him two tablets for the fever, goes to leave the room, let him sleep it off. 

Steve seems to have a different opinion. 

Lifts the blankets. 

Looks at Billy pointedly. 

Billy - doesn't get it. 

Steve rolls his eyes. ‘Get in, asshole.’ 

Billy falters. ‘You want me to - get in _bed_ with you?’ 

Steve's body goes through a particularly violent shudder. 

Billy finds his defenses weakening by the minute. 

‘Sharing body heat, Hargrove. Your temperature will help lower mine,’ Steve manages through chattering teeth. ‘Take off your clothes and come sleep next to me.’ 

He says it slowly, like Billy's about to flee at any minute, in a tone both exasperated and patronizing, and Billy - 

Well, he has to admit Steve has a point. From a scientific point of view. 

So he. 

He undresses himself down to his boxers, fast enough so as not to give either of them time to reconsider, and slides into bed with Steve Harrington. 

Steve is burning up, shaking like a leaf, angling towards Billy before he even has the chance to properly lay down, manhandles both of them to his liking, plasters himself all over Billy's side, making an obvious effort to move as little as possible. 

Billy waits until he's sure Harrington's asleep, checks his forehead with his palm, finds his temperature lower but still concerningly high, draws his palm away, follows it with a kiss. 

He closes his eyes, falls asleep, his chest feeling lighter than it’s been for years. 

* 

The first time he wakes up, he immediately registers three things. One, it's still dark enough outside to justify going back to sleep. Two, Steve's hair has managed to get both in his mouth _and _inhis nose. Three, Harrington's fever seems to have completely gone down. 

Billy knows, he _knows _he should get up, go sleep in one of the other bedrooms he noticed before, _knows_ the only reason he's being given the luxury of sleeping next to Steve in the first place is because Harrington had a fever, and now he doesn't, so there's _no _reason for Billy to be here anymore, but he's spent _months _wondering how Steve's skin would feel, and smell, and _taste, _and now he knows, and Steve's sleeping peacefully, and Billy _really _doesn't want to wake him up, _or_ go, because he's _never _going to have this chance, _ever again, _and. 

And he's spent the last day taking care of the boy he's apparently _in love with, _so he figures he can afford to be selfish for just a bit longer. 

He falls back to sleep. 

* 

The next time he wakes up, Steve is laying on his side, head supported on the palm of his hand, looking down at Billy. 

Steve's eyes are clear from any sign of fever, and when Billy places the back of his palm on Steve's forehead he's back to his normal temperature, and he also closes his eyes, and leans closely, and sighs happily. 

Billy doesn't know what to do with that, or how long Steve's been awake, or why he's looking at him so intensely, like he's trying to find the solution to some riddle, and he's _just_ woken up next to the boy he's been _pining_ for, so his defenses are not up in full force yet, and he says, ‘you still haven't asked me why I agreed to stay.’ 

And Steve looks at him for a moment, even _more_ intensely than before, and Billy's well on his way to start squirming, or panicking, or screaming, but then Harrington's face does this _thing,_ like he knows something Billy doesn't, and then Harrington lowers his head on Billy's chest, takes Billy's arm, drapes it around his chest, mumbles sleepily, ‘no need,’ promptly goes back to sleep. 

And Billy doesn't really need any more sleep, because he hasn't slept as good as he did last night in _years, _but Steve's exhausted from the fever, and apparently Billy's chest is a better pillow than his actual one, which looks three times as expensive as _Billy's_ pillow, _and_ his mattress, _and_ his beddings combined, and Billy's never seen Harrington look so peaceful, ever, _especially _after that night at the Byers’, so. 

He spends the next hour watching Harrington's face as he sleeps. 

* 

Steve wakes up, like, _finally Harrington, my arm would’ve needed amputation soon, _rolls his eyes at Billy's whining, burrows his face in Billy's chest, yawns loudly. 

Billy would deny finding Harrington's waking routine endearing to his dying breath. 

‘How are you feeling?’ 

Steve swallows, testing his throat. ‘Better. Fever’s gone completely, but my throat’s still sore. And I'm _starving. _Aren't _you _supposed to be the one in charge of the cooking?’ 

Billy - can't help it, he breathes a soft laugh. Shakes his head, mutters, ‘fucking brat,’ still gets up to go find something to quench Harrington's appetite. 

Tries to ignore the feeling of Steve's eyes following his every movement as he moves about the room. 

* 

Billy wasn't kidding when he said Harrington's kitchen is fucking _empty_ and their options are limited, so they resort to drinking tea and munching on cereal that's probably stopped being edible some weeks ago. 

It's almost exactly like last night’s dinner, except for how _close _to Billy Steve is sitting now, how he keeps his feet dangling from his chair and touching Billy's, seemingly unaware he’s doing it, how every time they pass the cereal box to one another Steve lets his fingers linger on his. 

Steve isn't looking at him, and Billy doesn't know what _any _of that means. 

* 

Billy doesn't know what any of that means, until he does. 

He's washing the dishes, and he's trying to ignore the heavy feeling in his chest, one he knows comes exclusively from the fact that his day of taking care of Steve will soon be over, seeing as Steve is almost all the way back to normal again, and then feeling guilty for wanting to prolong it for as long as possible, when suddenly Steve's arms are around his waist, Steve's face is nuzzling his throat, Steve's mouth is placing a soft kiss on the side of his neck. 

Billy - drops the cup he was holding. 

Freezes. Says, carefully, ‘Harrington,’ because that's the only word he can currently muster at the moment. 

Harrington _hums. _He _hums _against the side of Billy's throat, not even making an _effort _to look somewhat flustered by this chain of events. 

Billy would be indignant, if he wasn't so preoccupied _freaking the hell out._

He clears his throat, the one Harrington's currently peppering little kisses over, tries again. ‘Harrington. Did you just kiss my neck?’ 

‘I did, thanks for noticing,’ comes Harrington's reply, and Billy doesn't even need to turn around to know he's wearing his _smug look. _

Billy, if anyone asks, is in the process of losing his mind. 

He heaves a shaking breath, steels himself, turns around in Harrington's arms. 

Tilts his neck on the side, because Harrington seems intent on tracing every inch of it with a kiss, or a lick, or a bite, and Billy’s resolutely _not_ complaining, but - 

‘Why?’ It comes quieter than intended, bordering on uncertain, and that makes Steve raise his head, something like worry in his eyes. 

He must find _something _in Billy's that quells his momentary concern, because after a second he looks at Billy sweetly, cups his jaw, whispers, ‘because _baby, _I couldn't make my cold last forever waiting for you,’ traces his thumb over Billy's cheekbone, follows it with a kiss. 

_Baby._

‘I - I don't -’ is what Billy manages to get out, before Steve leans in, brings their lips together in the softest kiss Billy's ever experienced, and Billy _does. _

He _finally _gets what all of that means, and he celebrates this victory by opening his mouth to Steve's, who tastes like the tomato soup they ate last night, and the cough syrup Billy made him drink after that, and then something decidedly _Steve. _

Billy immediately concludes it's the best thing he's ever tasted, giving in to the way their tongues move around their mouths, pushing and licking and _exploring_, before his mind reminds him that Harrington's still _sick._

He pulls back, pushes Steve away just a bit, grips his shoulders to make sure he doesn't move _that_ far away, because now that he knows how Steve's body feels against his he doesn't think he can survive putting even the slightest distance between them, laughs at Steve's adorable pouty face. 

‘We're both sweaty and _gross, _Harrington, and you're _sick,_’ he says, a smile on his face that probably undermines his extremely important point, ‘you're getting your germs all over me.’ 

He follows that statement with a soft, lingering kiss to Steve's top lip, which _definitely _undermines his point, finds he doesn't mind at all, especially since it's followed by Steve's breathy laugh, a sound he only got to hear for the first time less than 24 hours ago, one he finds himself already addicted to. 

Steve rubs their noses together, his a bit more red than Billy's, licks at the seam of Billy's lips, eyes sparkling with something like happiness, something Billy _knows_ is reflected in his own, starts walking them to his bedroom, decides against it, settles on a cleaner, less messy guest room. 

Lays them down, side by side, cups Billy's cheek, kisses it once, whispers, like a secret, ‘I promise to make you a whole pot of soup if you get sick.’ 

Billy thinks he's gotten himself a pretty good deal. 

Then Steve starts moving his mouth lower, and Billy - stops being able to think. 

* 

They wake up, tangled and dirty and sated, sometime in the early evening, because there is an insistent _ringing _in their ears. 

Billy, arms around Harrington to hold him as close as physically possible, nose once again buried in brown locks, legs entwined with Steve's, makes a noise aiming for threatening, ends up grumbling a curse in Steve's hair, followed by a kiss at the top of his head, to make sure Steve knows it's not directed at _him, _takes one of the _numerous _pillows that ended up thrown over the bed to make up space for _them_, holds it over his head, decidedly _ignores _the offending sound. 

Steve - is either _terribly _bad at tuning out sounds, or alarmingly functional after what Billy considers to be three mind-blowing orgasms, followed by not_ nearly _enoughhours of sleep. 

He huffs a laugh at Billy's display of justified annoyance, lifts the pillow, smiles softly at him, says, in a voice that owes only half its hoarseness to his sore throat, ‘babe, it's probably the kids, they said they would stop by to check on me.’ 

Which, rude. 

Like, _Billy's_ here to check on Steve, and he's doing an unquestionably better job than those nerds, whose idea of taking care of someone with a fever is _to build him a blanket fortress, _and he's able to show Steve a _decidedly_ better time than they ever would be, given that their idea of fun consists of spending hours playing _board games_, like it's the 1950s or something. 

Steve seems able to sense his frustration, nuzzling into Billy's cheek before pecking him softly on the lips and getting out of bed, in search of the clothes they hastily discarded a few hours ago. 

Gets himself decent enough _for the kids, _starts walking out of the room, stops. Turns to Billy, who’s been thoroughly enjoying the display of Steve’s naked body moving around the room, and then Harrington gives him the filthiest smile he's ever thought him capable of producing, says, voice steady and calm, ‘if you come downstairs and behave, I'll blow you in the shower later.’ 

Leaves Billy alone to deal with that earth-shattering statement. 

It takes Billy three minutes to find his clothes, and another ten to calm himself down. 

* 

He behaves. 

* 

Monday morning comes around, and Billy reluctantly acquiesces they _have _to leave the house, because Neil doesn't give a shit where Billy spends his nights, as long as he's always there to drive Max around. 

That doesn't stop Billy from showing Steve just how _much_ he'll miss him while they're apart. Multiple times. 

On the way to school, Max opens her mouth to ask him something undoubtedly inappropriate about his weekend, and Billy opens _his_ fully intent on shutting her up before she gets a word out, and. 

He sneezes, three times in a row. 

Max's smug grin is plastered on her stupid face for the rest of the drive, _and_ while she's getting out of the car, _and _when she turns around, while walking towards the school, something she's _never_ done, and _winks _at him. 

Like maybe she knew all along. 

Like maybe she saw a chance and grabbed it, for his sake. 

Billy - hates her a bit less. 

**Author's Note:**

> this was meant to be like 2k words shorter idk
> 
> title comes from 'happy unhappy' by the beths
> 
> i have a [tumblr](https://aspartaeme.tumblr.com/), come say hi!


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